


Inevitable

by Spikedluv



Category: Blood Ties
Genre: Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-29
Updated: 2011-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-15 05:28:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/157500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spikedluv/pseuds/Spikedluv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What happened,” Henry mused out loud, “to the man who once saw things in black and white?”</p><p>“Things change,” Mike said shortly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inevitable

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place three years after the series finale.
> 
> Written for my LJ Anniversary using devohoneybee’s prompt: Mike/Henry, Mike and Henry meet up in an unexpected place, some years later. Mike's a little worse for wear, but the old crazy vibe is still there, between them. (The story doesn’t follow the prompt _exactly_ , but this is where my mind went when I was thinking about the prompt.) Also, I’ve taken some liberties with the show, mostly because I haven’t seen the eps in a while so I’m probably inadvertently got things wrong; I hope that doesn’t throw you out of the story.
> 
> Written: January 18, 2011

Henry Fitzroy found the address he’d been given, pulled into the driveway and parked on the far side of the car already parked there, and waited for Mike Celluci to exit the house he’d purchased eight months ago. He’d give up his apartment in town for a larger place with privacy and a lawn that backed onto a wooded area, though Henry had no idea why. According to Vicki Nelson, Mike had also resigned from the police force two years ago, not long after Henry had left Toronto.

Before Henry left, Mike had continued to grudgingly worked with Vicki on the supernatural cases that found their way to her, but their friendship had never quite recovered from the fact that she’d drawn him into that world in the first place, or from her actions that night nearly three years ago now. Henry couldn’t blame Mike for that last one; it was one of the reasons he’d eventually left Toronto, after all.

Finally Mike stepped out of the front door and made sure it was locked behind him. Henry got out of his car and quietly shut the door. He had a few seconds to study Mike as he crossed the porch and moved down the front steps, before he realized Henry was there. More than his choice of employment had changed over the past few years.

Mike still wore the same long trench coat, but the sword he concealed (from most eyes, anyway) beneath it was new. Instead of a suit, Mike wore jeans and a pair of sturdy boots. He’d let his hair grow and had it pulled back into a small tail, and it looked like he hadn’t shaved in a week.

Mike started down the walkway towards his car, and then his head came up when he either sensed Henry’s presence, or saw him out of the corner of his eye. His hand went to his hip in a move Mike aborted when he recognized Henry. Henry wondered if Mike had been reaching for the police issue he no longer carried, or if there was some other weapon hidden beneath the coat.

Mike continued towards the car, also different from the police issue he’d once driven, but his shoulders remained stiff. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Vicki called me.”

Mike snorted. “You ran all the way back to Toronto because Vicki called? You know, for being the woman most capable of taking care of herself that I know, she sure does have enough men ready to rush to her rescue.”

“That number include you?” Henry said, as much to tweak Mike as because he genuinely wanted to know.

Mike ignored him and simply used the remote to unlock his car. Henry climbed into the passenger seat before Mike could think to relock it. If nothing else, the sword implied there would be a fight, and Henry didn’t want t miss it. Besides, he was beginning to think that Vicki might have been right to be worried.

“What are you doing?” Mike asked, aggrieved.

Henry shrugged. “Assuaging my curiosity?”

Days past, Mike would have wasted time arguing, but tonight he didn’t bother.

Henry waited until Mike had pulled onto the road before saying, “Vicki didn’t call me because she needed my help.”

He waited, knowing that Mike had to be curious as well.

Finally Mike rolled his eyes at Henry’s obviousness and said, “Fine, Henry, why did Vicki call you, then?”

“She called because she thought you might.”

“Need _your_ help?” Mike said with enough incredulity to give a lesser man self-confidence issues. “I don’t need anything from anyone, especially you.”

“Okay,” Henry said with as much equanimity as he could manage. As much fun as it was, arguing with Mike wouldn’t get him anywhere; what he needed to do was sit back and observe for himself. Besides, truth be told, maybe his ego _had_ just taken a bit of a hit.

Mike drove towards one of the least desirable parts of town. Of course, Henry thought, rolling his eyes. He parked beneath an overpass that would’ve looked deserted except for the fire burning in a round metal drum, and the eyes Henry could make out shining in the darkness.

When Mike stepped out of the car the unnatural silence was broken. A young child dressed in barely more than rags ran up to them. Well, ran up to Mike.

“Is it my turn, Mr. Mike, is it?”

“Let me check my book,” Mike said gravely as the girl danced with excitement.

Mike pulled out a small notebook and flipped it open to a blank page. He made a show of studying it, and then said, “Why yes, I do believe it _is_ your turn, Sarah.”

“I’ll guard it good, Mr. Mike,” she assured him, taking up a spot in front of the car.

“I know you will,” Mike said, gently ruffling hair that would give Henry pause to touch.

Mike moved off through the homeless, offering a silent greeting here or there, and then into the darkness beyond.

“Where are we going?” Henry asked, thinking that maybe he should’ve asked before. Curiosity did kill the cat, after all.

“Sewers,” Mike said, as if he went there everyday. Heck, maybe he did.

Henry groaned. “These boots are Italian leather, you know.”

Mike’s lips curled up in a faint smirk. “Shame. You could always wait outside. Or help Sarah watch the car.”

Like hell, Henry thought. He figured that this show might be worth the price of admission, even if that price was a really expensive pair of boots.

“So,” Henry said, his curiosity growing, “those people, they know what you do?”

Mike shrugged. “They know people are getting killed, I go in, no more people get killed. That’s all they care about.”

Henry figured that was all they could _afford_ to care about, given their struggle just to make it from one day to the next.

At the entrance to the sewer Mike took out a small flashlight and studied the grate. He bit the flashlight between his teeth while he tugged on a pair of black leather gloves, then took hold of the grate on one side and pulled. It squealed as it moved a hair, but it didn’t release. Mike readjusted his grip, but paused when Henry tapped his shoulder.

“Why don’t you let me try?”

Mike looked like he wanted to argue, but instead he bit his tongue and stepped back to give Henry room. Henry wondered what had happened in the past two years to make Mike more conscious of the final goal and less concerned with how they got there. Not that Mike had been that way when it came to solving cases, but when Henry was involved it was almost a given that there’d be some sort of competition (usually for Vicki’s attention) between them.

Henry could see where the lock had been broken, and the bolts busted off, but the grate had been jammed back into place. Henry gave it an experimental tug to see how it was stuck in there, and then twisted the grate as he yanked it out.

Mike didn’t say anything, just stepped into the tunnel, his tiny flashlight stabbing into the darkness beyond, creating a small circle of light that looked almost sad.

“Whatever’s in there probably heard that,” Henry said, stating the obvious because Mike appeared not to be paying that fact any mind.

Mike grunted in response, and then drew the sword out from beneath his coat. “Yeah, it’ll probably come investigate.”

Mike took a small glass vial out of his pocket, tapped it against the wall to break the top off, and then sprinkled it’s contents (which looked like salt, to Henry) onto the blade of the sword. Before Henry could ask Mike what the substance was, an angry roar shook the walls around them.

Henry would’ve been impressed by Mike’s apparent lack of fear if part of him didn’t wonder whether Mike had been courting death by becoming immersed in the supernatural, and taking on the task of hunting the monsters that lurked in the shadows.

Mike took the lead, and Henry let him because he didn’t want an argument. Besides, when the time came he could use his speed to easily move ahead of Mike and form the first line of offense, or defense, however it might turn out. His boots (and probably his slacks) were already ruined, anyway, so what was a few more items of clothing?

When they finally caught sight of the creature lumbering towards them on four scaley legs, wings scraping the walls of the tunnel, and appearing fully intent on defending its territory to the death, Henry swore. It looked like a small dragon.

“That thing better not breathe flames,” Henry said, rethinking his position on being the first in the line of fire. So to speak.

“Right,” Mike said, “because I can withstand flames any better than you.”

Henry didn’t bother pointing out that it would take Mike longer to burn, whereas Henry would disappear in a flash, as if he’d never existed. He doubted that argument would win him any points with Mike. Not that he was looking for points, with Mike or anyone else.

Mike brandished the sword and set his feet, preparing for the beast’s attack. Henry had only a moment to consider the fact that Mike looked like he knew what he was doing with that sword before the dragon-like creature charged.

“Oh, fuck it,” Henry said. He pulled the gun he’d kept hidden out of his pocket and emptied the clip into the beast.

The first couple of bullets had no effect, but then it slowed. Two more steps and the thing stumbled and tripped over its own feet, and fell with a thud that shook the ground. When he looked away from the creature, Mike was just staring at him.

“Seriously?”

“What?”

“Bullets won’t kill it.”

“Enough of them might,” Henry argued, just for the sake of arguing. “Besides, I figured they’d slow it down long enough for you to pierce its heart or lop off its head with that thing.”

Mike shook his own head, more in bemusement than irritation, Henry thought. He walked over to the beast and inflicted a small scratch on the thinner hide of it’s muzzle, then stepped back and waited.

“That . . . what was that?”

“Poison,” Mike said. “Not quite as sexy as lopping off its head, but less messy.”

“There was poison on that blade? And you didn’t tell me?”

“Don’t remember inviting you along,” Mike said.

“What if you’d cut yourself?”

“Didn’t intend to cut myself with my own sword,” Mike said evenly.

Suddenly the creature let out a sigh and deflated like a balloon. Apparently satisfied that it was dead Mike took a rag out of his pocket and wiped the poison off the blade of his sword before re-sheathing it. He tossed the rag onto the dragon thing, and then produced yet another vial.

Mike sprinkled the contents onto the creature this time, returned the empty vial to his pocket, and withdrew a small box of matches. “Stand back,” Mike said as he struck a small wooden match to the side of the box, and then tossed it onto the beast, as well.

Henry stepped back as soon as he saw the matches, and none too soon. There was a loud ‘woosh!’ and heat filled the tunnel as the creature went up in flames. Five minutes later the flames died out and there was nothing left but ash.

“Remind me to never piss you off,” Henry said, impressed despite himself.

Mike grunted something that sounded like, “Too late,” and led the way out of the tunnel.

Henry took a moment to wonder where Mike was getting his magical supplies, and then hurried after him. He wouldn’t put it past Mike to leave him behind if Henry wasn’t at the car when Mike got there. Not that Henry couldn’t make it back to Mike’s place before Mike did, but it was the principle of the thing.

Back at the car Mike stopped in front of Sarah. He tucked his hands in the front pocket of his jeans and looked stern. “Report.”

“No one came near the car, Mr. Mike,” Sarah said very seriously.

Henry glanced over the car, which still had all its tires, and all the windows intact.

“Good job, Sarah,” Mike said. “I really appreciate you watching my car for me.”

Mike held up a finger in a ‘wait a minute’ gesture and walked around to the trunk. Sarah was so excited that she vibrated with it. Mike opened the trunk and dug around inside. Even Henry grew curious to see what Mike might reappear with. It turned out to be a purple jacket that made Sarah’s eyes light up as she pulled it on immediately, and a rag doll that left her speechless.

Finally she found her tongue and said,” Thank you, Mr. Mike.”

Mike went to one knee and tugged the collar of her new purple jacket up around her neck. “You’re very welcome, Sarah. Thank _you_ for keeping an eye on my car.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Mike,” Sarah said, and then she ran off.

Mike rose to his feet and closed the trunk. “Shut up and get in the car.”

Henry held his hands out, silently proclaiming his innocence. “What?” he said. Then added, “Mr. Mike.”

Henry grinned as he got into the car just before Mike gunned the engine and tore out.

Mike was silent for most of the drive back to his house, but he eventually broke. “They won’t take charity,” Mike said, “but they’ll accept payment if they’ve earned it, so I pay the kids to watch my car . . . .”

A car that no one would probably have touched anyway, since most of the homeless in that area seemed to be families down on their luck rather than drug addicts.

“. . . whenever I need to be down there.”

“That’s nice,” Henry said, not at all surprised that Mike had cared enough to come up with an acceptable way to give the children things like warm coats and dolls.

Mike shot him a suspicious glare. “‘That’s nice’, that’s it?”

“Yeah,” Henry said, and settled more comfortably into his seat. Henry had meant it, it _was_ nice, but the fact that Mike thought he had another agenda was a bonus.

Mike turned into his driveway and parked beside Henry’s rental. He got out of the car and waited for Henry to exit before locking it with a press of his thumb. When Henry started to follow him up the sidewalk Mike turned to him and said, “What are you doing?”

“I just helped you kill that . . . dragon thing, I figured the least you could do was invite me in.”

Mike turned away and snorted, “Least I could do,” but he never said ‘no’, so Henry continued to follow him up to the small front porch.

Mike sat on the bench and removed his boots. “They smell like sewer,” he explained at Henry’s questioning expression. “The house’ll reek. You wanna come in, you take yours off, too.”

“Italian. Leather,” Henry reminded Mike.

“That smells like sewer,” Mike said as he stood and shrugged out of his coat, then tossed it across the bench.

“Coat, too?” Henry glanced down at the stained cuffs of his slacks. “Should I remove my pants, as well?”

Mike raised his eyebrows. “Not on a first date,” he drawled.

Henry tried to ignore the fact that Mike hadn’t actually said he wasn’t interested, even though that hadn’t been what Henry had meant. Except for how now he was thinking about it. Henry took his coat off as Mike unlocked the front door, and then toed off his boots.

“I merely meant that I might have gotten some of the sewer on my slacks.”

Mike pointed to his own jeans. “That’s why I roll mine up. I’ll get you a pair of sweats,” he offered as he stepped over the threshold, then said more seriously, “If you come in, you _are_ going to tell me what you’re doing here.”

“I told you . . . ,” Henry began.

“No. You told me why Vicki called you, you haven’t yet told me why you came.”

“Huh,” Henry said to Mike’s back as he unhooked the sheath and stood it against the wall. Damn him for being a cop, anyway.

Henry stepped up to the threshold and waited. When Mike started to walk away, Henry cleared his throat.

“Oh, sorry,” Mike said, not sounding in the least bit sorry at all. “Come in, Henry,” Mike said, almost sounding shy all of the sudden.

Henry stepped through the doorway warily. He would have thought it would have taken more arguing for Mike to let him in. Henry closed the door and followed Mike down the hallway, stopping when he heard a low growl. He followed the sound into the living room and slowly turned his head until he saw the source – what appeared to be a small wolf pup.

“Michael,” Henry said, catching the sweat pants Mike threw at him even though he hadn’t taken his eyes off the young wolf. “When did you get a werewolf?”

Mike ignored Henry’s question. He walked across the living room to the small wolf, which looked torn between wagging its tail at Mike and baring its teeth at Henry. Mike knelt beside the pup, gently cuffed the side of its head, and then began rubbing behind its ears. The wolf leaned into the touch, and then went to its back, allowing Mike to rub its belly.

Henry debated the sweats in his hand, then quickly shucked his slacks and left them lying in the hallway as he stepped into the clean sweat pants.

“He’s not the enemy,” Mike reassured the pup softly. “At least not tonight. But if you want to bite him I won’t stop you.”

“Oh, nice,” Henry said as he ventured into the room and lowered himself onto the couch, not missing the way the corners of Mike’s lips curled up at his own little bit of humor. He watched the byplay between Mike and the young wolf as he tried to make himself appear as non-threatening as possible.

Henry was the alpha, the more dangerous predator, but now was not the time to make that clear to the pup, especially given that he didn’t want Mike to toss him out of the house.

“I’m gonna go get you some clothes; change back whenever you’re ready,” Mike said, and then walked away leaving Henry alone with the wolf.

The pup rolled to its belly and watched Mike walk away, then turned it’s gaze onto Henry. Feeling perverse, Henry waved at it. Its lips curled back in response. Henry had to give it credit, it was pretty fierce for such a small thing.

Mike returned, disrupting their staring contest, and dropped some clothing beside the wolf.

“Henry, act your age,” Mike said. “And you.” Mike wiggled his toes in the pup’s fur, which made it roll to its back again and look at Mike hopefully. “I’m making hot chocolate.”

The wolf watched Mike leave the room, then glanced at Henry warily before resting its muzzle on its front paws and closing its eyes. Henry hadn’t gotten to be over 450 years old by underestimating his opponent, so he kept his eyes on the pup, and still he didn’t see the change.

The air around the wolf shimmered, and between one moment and the next the pup was gone and a young boy that couldn’t be more than 7 years old sat in its place. He had the same light brown hair as the wolf’s coat had been, and the same watchful brown eyes. The boy quickly pulled on the pajama bottoms and t-shirt that Mike had provided.

Mike returned with the promised hot chocolate and the boy pushed himself to his feet and barreled into Mike’s legs, wrapping his arms round them. Mike just managed to set the mug down without spilling any of the hot chocolate. He bent down and grabbed the boy beneath his arms and lifted him. The boy wrapped his arms and legs around Mike, and Mike clamped his own arms around the boy’s back and held him close.

“You were in bed when I left,” Mike said. He flipped the boy around so he could sit him on his lap when he sat in the chair.

The boy leaned against Mike’s chest. “I couldn’t sleep. I was worried.”

“I know,” Mike said, sounding as if they’d had this conversation before. He rubbed the boy’s back and assured him, “But I’m fine. Not even a scratch.”

The boy was quiet for a couple of minutes as he considered that, his gaze sliding over to Henry once in a while. Finally he said to Mike, “Who’s he?”

“Sorry,” Mike said, “I should have introduced you. That’s Henry. Henry, this is Kyle. Henry helped me tonight.”

“He did?” Kyle didn’t sound impressed.

“Yes,” Mike said, ruffling the boy’s hair.

Kyle stared Henry dubiously, then said, “ _What_ is he?”

“You tell me,” Mike said as Henry looked on curiously.

Kyle studied Henry, then slid off Mike’s lap and moved a few steps closer. Henry raised his eyebrows as the kid looked him over, and then he couldn’t resist a smile that bared his teeth.

Unaffected, Kyle leaned forward and spoke almost conspiratorially. “He said I could bite you.”

Henry had to admit, if only to himself, that the kid had chutzpah. Still, he couldn’t let such a challenge to his authority go unanswered. Henry leaned forward as well. He let his eyes go black and said, “Sure, you could do that; just keep in mind that I bite back.”

Kyle’s eyes went wide and he scurried back to the safety of Mike’s lap. Mike rolled his eyes at Henry’s antics as he gathered Kyle back into his arms.

“Well?” Mike said.

“Vampire,” Kyle answered immediately. “He smells dead.”

“Hey!” Henry said, indignant.

Kyle’s lips curled up and he ducked his head against Mike’s chest to hide his smile. Mike had to bite his own lips to keep from laughing. Henry figured he could give the kid this one point, but the next one was going to be Henry’s.

“Okay, boys,” Mike said, “play nice.” He handed the mug to Kyle and said, “Here, drink this before it gets cold.”

Kyle’s eyelids grew heavy before he’d finished the hot chocolate, and they finally fell closed soon after Mike rescued the mug from hands gone slack.

This night Henry had seen a side to Mike Celluci that he hadn’t known existed. Of course Henry knew generally speaking that Mike cared; he wouldn’t have gone into police work if he hadn’t. And Henry knew he cared for Vicki and Coreen, but the way he held the boy so gently, and spoke so softly, was different. There’d always been a hardness to Mike when Henry saw him, a sarcastic edge, probably brought on by their competition for Vicki’s attention, so this tenderness he displayed was a revelation.

“How long have you had him?” Henry said when Kyle’s breaths evened out and he was deeply asleep.

“About ten months,” Mike said, rubbing Kyle’s back lovingly even as his lips went tight and a flash of sadness filled his eyes before it was gone.

Henry waited, somehow knowing that Mike wanted, maybe needed, to tell the story, but he might get his back up if Henry pushed. Henry wasn’t used to waiting, but for some reason, he really wanted to hear what Mike had to say.

“There was an attack,” Mike said finally, speaking so softly that even Henry had to strain to hear the words. “His mother was killed protecting him. By the time I got to them she’d shifted back, and there he was, just a little pup curled up next to her. Frightened and alone. I couldn’t just hand him over to social services – can you imagine what they would have done the first time he shifted? – so I brought him home with me.”

“And he didn’t bite you?” Henry asked, incredulous that Mike would have taken such a chance with his own safety.

Mike shook his head. “I tranq’d him, wrapped him in a blanket. Luckily, by the time he woke up he’d shifted back. Not sure what I would have done with him if he’d still been a wolf. He was scared, but he understood enough to know that I hadn’t killed his mother. He later told me that he remembered what the monster had smelled like. And he knew she was dead.”

“What about family?”

Mike shook his head. “I asked; it’s always just been him and his mom, according to Kyle. I imagine that most of his mother’s family deserted them when they realized what she was. He said he never knew his father.”

“And you’ve always wanted a puppy,” Henry said, partly to lighten the mood, and partly to see how Mike would react.

“Don’t call him that,” Mike said as he slid his fingers through the boy’s hair, but without the heat Henry’s comment would have garnered years earlier.

“What happened,” Henry mused out loud, “to the man who once saw things in black and white?”

“Things change,” Mike said shortly, and then he pushed out of the chair and carried Kyle out of the room.

Henry listened to the sounds of Mike tucking Kyle into bed and tried to equate the Mike he’d known several years ago with the Mike he’d met today. Mike didn’t speak when he re-entered the living room. He took the mug out to the kitchen and rinsed it in the sink, then returned with a bottle and two tumblers. Mike poured a generous helping into both glasses before handing one to Henry and sinking back into the chair.

Mike stared silently into the glass for several long moments before taking a sip. “Are you going to tell me what you’re doing here?”

Henry dodged the question again and countered, “Why was Vicki worried about you?”

Mike snorted. “Vicki doesn’t like not knowing everything.”

“Has she met Kyle?”

“Once. Kyle didn’t take to her.”

Henry wasn’t fool enough to touch that with a ten foot pole.

“Does she know he’s a werewolf?”

“No.”

“Why’d you leave the force?” Henry asked.

Vicki had told him that Mike had resigned, but their conversations had still been pretty stilted at the time so there hadn’t been any details, even if Mike had been talking to Vicki and told her. Plus, it had been a little bit of a shock to see how well Mike had taken to the life of a hunter when he’d once upon a time blamed Vicki for introducing him to the supernatural. There was a lot about this Mike that Henry wanted to know.

“Because I couldn’t do both,”Mike said.

Henry’s confusion at that statement must have shown on his face because Mike went on to explain.

“I couldn’t keep lying to my partner, my superiors, making up stories to cover gremlin attacks or hiding evidence, filing falsified reports. And, as much as I wanted to, I couldn’t ignore the fact that demons and vampires and werewolves exist.

Mike sighed and shifted in his chair, then took another drink.

“As much as I hated to admit it, there were others who could do my job, protecting the people of Toronto from your garden variety murderer or rapist or drug dealer, but there was no one protecting them from the nightmares hiding under their beds.”

Mike shook his head. “I saw too many bodies come in, or people go missing, where the cases went cold, and I’d wonder, you know, whether some sicko had done that to a fellow human being, or if they’d been the sacrifice in some ritual, or killed by something that the police would never find, because they’d never think to look for it.”

Mike gave a humorless laugh. “And then you left, and I knew Vicki was the only one out there standing between the residents of Toronto and . . . them.”

Henry almost missed the rest of Mike’s comment, the ‘and then you left’ on repeat in his head. “You blame me for leaving?” he asked.

“What? No.” Mike shook his head, and Henry believed him, but still, there was something Mike wasn’t saying.

“You know I never set myself up to be anyone’s champion,” Henry said, the words coming out more defensively than he’d intended.

“Until Vicki batted her eyes at you.”

That was pretty unfair, Henry thought, if accurate. He’d only gotten involved in the first case to make sure there wasn’t another vampire in his territory, drawing unwanted attention to himself. Sure, he may have found Vicki intriguing enough to agree to help her with cases that dealt with the supernatural, but he’d never held himself out to be a hero.

Yet somehow it bothered him that Mike might think he’d fallen down on the job; that he might have had to take up Henry’s slack. Or maybe it might be that Henry thought that. Seeing Mike in action tonight, Henry wondered if he _had_ left someone in the lurch; Mike.

But all Henry said was, “Vicki never batted her eyes at me.”

Mike snorted, and then finished off the liquid in his glass.

“How did you get so good with a sword?” Henry asked. He suddenly realized that everything he’d learned about Mike raised new questions, and Henry wanted to know the answers to all of them.

Mike raised an eyebrow. “How do you know I’m any good with it? All I did was scratch the darn thing, thanks to your assistance. Is that gun registered, by the way?”

Henry ignored the matter of his unregistered gun and concentrated on the issue of Mike and the sword. “Because you held it like you knew what you were doing, and you’re too smart to try and use a weapon you’re not proficient with.”

After a moment of silence Mike said, “Did you just compliment me?”

“No, of course not,” Henry denied.

Mike nodded gravely, but it looked like he fought off a smile. “I’ve learned how to use a lot of weapons. The sword. Axe.” He looked at Henry and grinned. “Flame thrower.”

“That’s cool,” Henry agreed, impressed despite himself. “As long as it’s not aimed at me.”

“Nah, it was for this spider creature. Only way to get rid of the entire nest before some of them hatched. Now _those_ things were creepy.”

“Spiders.” Henry shuddered in agreement.

“Yeah,” Mike said thoughtfully, almost reluctantly, “Vicki did most of the research on that one.”

“So you guys work together?”

The look Mike threw him said he thought Henry already knew the answer to that question, but he answered it anyway. “I wouldn’t say that. We occasionally share resources, research. Back each other up when necessary. Mostly by virtue of being two of a very small number of people in Toronto who know what we know.”

“So you’re not really friends anymore?”

“Mostly we rely on our past friendship to get us through the awkward moments. Of which there are plenty.”

“Why the heck would Vicki tell me she was worried about you?”

“I told you . . . .”

“Yeah, so what, you think she thought I’d report back to her or something? Tell her all the dirt I found out, because you were certain to confide in me . . . ?”

Huh. Which is exactly what Mike had done. What the hell did Vicki know that Henry didn’t?

“Yeah, _that_ would be ridiculous,” Mike said. “You never did answer my question,” he changed the subject.

What could Henry say? I came because I was curious? Because I wondered why Vicki was worried? Because I missed you? Because I wondered if you missed me, too? Yeah, right.

“Well,” Mike said, “it’s getting late.”

For a second Henry thought he was getting kicked out, but Mike surprised him once again.

“You can stay if you want.” Mike picked up the bottle and carried it and his glass out to the kitchen. “The bedroom has blackout curtains.”

It took Henry another long moment to realize that he’d – maybe – been invited to stay _in Mike’s bed_. He nearly leapt off the couch and followed Mike to the kitchen. He watched Mike replace the bottle in the cupboard and walk over to set his glass in the sink. Mike waited for Henry to get close enough, then took the glass from him and set it in the sink as well.

Henry bit the bullet and said, “I came back because I felt like there was something I’d left undone.”

Mike blinked, and it seemed to happen in slow motion, as if his eyelids had grown too heavy to lift. When Henry could see them again, Mike’s eyes had gone dark.

“Me, too,” Mike said.

Henry wasn’t sure if he was more surprised at his own admission, or at Mike’s. He did know that neither of them would’ve been able to say the words two years ago.

Mike brushed against Henry as he passed him, and Henry reflexively turned his head to scent him. He watched Mike turned off the lights in the kitchen, heard him move into the living room to do the same, and then head down the hall to the bedroom. Henry finally shook off the shock that held him frozen in place and followed.

Mike had paused to peer into one of the bedrooms, so Henry stopped beside him. Kyle lay sprawled out on the bed, blankets kicked off him, little snores issuing from his open mouth.

“He looks like an angel,” Henry said with mock incredulity.

Mike snorted. “I’m sure even you manage to look like an angel when you’re sleeping.”

Mike pulled the door mostly closed, leaving it open about an inch, then turned and continued down the hallway to what Henry presumed was the master bedroom. Henry paused in the open doorway and watched Mike pull off his shirt in the low glow given off by the small lamp sitting in the dresser.

Henry was across the room before Mike had freed his arms from the shirt. Mike froze when Henry ran his hand up the middle of his back, and for a brief moment Henry thought he’d misinterpreted Mike’s invitation to stay. Then Mike shivered, and the scent of his arousal teased at Henry’s nostrils.

Mike didn’t say anything as he tossed aside the shirt and lowered both hands to his waistband. Henry slid his hands across Mike’s shoulders, and then back down his back. He stroked his hands over Mike’s hips as Mike shoved jeans and briefs down, closing his eyes as he touched skin that had so recently been hidden from him.

Mike paused. He had to clear his throat before he said, “Henry, I need to . . . .”

“Go ahead,” Henry said. Challenged.

Mike bent forward just enough to push his jeans down further, but it was enough to press his ass into Henry’s groin. Mike snorted even as his body released a fresh wave of arousal when he felt the press of Henry’s erection.

“That’s no laughing matter,” Henry said gravely.

Mike straightened and kicked his jeans off, leaving him wearing just a pair of socks. Mike turned to face Henry, and Henry took perverse pleasure in his refusal to lift his hands from Mike’s body, instead letting one slide across Mike’s tight ass, and the other across his swollen cock, causing Mike’s breaths to quicken.

“Maybe not a laughing matter,” Mike said, “but kind of unusual, I mean for us, don’t you think?”

“Unexpected,” Henry said. He wasn’t sure how he’d managed to be in a position to take advantage of something he hadn’t even known he wanted. (Maybe Vicki deserved a bouquet of flowers.) “Probably inevitable,” he added.

Mike raised his eyebrows in a manner that Henry had previously found quite irritating, but now thought was cute.

“You honestly believe that?”

“I came back to Toronto because Vicki was worried about you.” Henry shrugged. “I laughed at first, when she told me; I mean, what the hell was I gonna be able to do about it, right? We weren’t friends. Hell, we were barely civil to each other, and only because we were both a little bit afraid of Vicki.”

Mike huffed out a laugh at that. “So what changed?”

“I don’t know. Maybe nothing.”

Henry’s hands started to move again, and Mike sucked in a breath when Henry’s fingers brushed over his nipples.

“Maybe just our own perception.”

“Perception?” Mike repeated, his voice cracking as Henry’s thumbs worried the hard nubs.

“Mmm,” Henry said. He leaned forward and touched his tongue to one of Mike’s nipples. “You ever wonder what might’ve happened if we’d ever let one of our arguments turn physical?”

Mike’s laugh was shaky when he said, “We’d probably have killed one another.”

“Or had the best sex of our lives,” Henry replied.

“Why are you still _talking_?” Mike said.

Mike buried his fingers in Henry’s hair and tipped his head back. He crushed their lips together as he pushed his other hand down the back of Henry’s borrowed sweat pants. They rocked together, erections digging into the other. Mike broke the kiss so he could breathe, but continued to knead Henry’s ass.

He rested his forehead against Henry’s and said, “And why are you still dressed?”

Henry smirked. “I was enjoying the show.”

“Enjoy this,” Mike growled as he walked Henry over to the bed and pressed him down onto the mattress.

Henry laughed as Mike dragged the sweat pants off of him, and then reached for his shirt. He’d never seen Mike this _determined_ before. He let Mike take the lead – it felt nice to have his hands moving over him, by turns rough and tender – knowing that it would be so easy to wrest it back. And he wouldn’t even have to use his superior strength against him to do so.

Just as a test Henry reached up and touched Mike’s neck. He found the scar he’d left there years ago and brushed his thumb over it. Mike made a little sound of surprise at the back of his throat. Henry pressed his thumb against the raised skin; Mike moaned and shuddered down to his toes.

Yeah, Henry thought, inevitable.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that I had not read Blood Trails before I wrote this fic, should you wonder why there are any discrepancies.


End file.
